


give me a spark (i'll give you explosions)

by frnndtorres



Category: Football RPF
Genre: #disappointment, Coffeeshop AU, I hate myself, I'm Sorry, M/M, Steno, alternative universe, ana i love you but i'm sorry, cause I'm trash, i don't fucking know, ju & jo, why am writing this instead of finishing my other works???, you can all hate me now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8638117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnndtorres/pseuds/frnndtorres
Summary: are u a parking ticket?? cuz you’ve got fine written aLl over u





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aloeia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloeia/gifts).



> k, so, 1. yes, you can kill me for writing this instead of literally any of my other works, but a) school's been legitimately k i l l i n g me and b) I really feel like writing this (even if it's shitty af) might help end my terrible writer's block??? idk. let's hope. 2. this work is for my beautiful best friend @aloeia, the idea came from her and I KNOW THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU WERE EXPECTING, but I'm a shitty friend and an even shittier writer and I've had this work open and sitting on my desktop for, like, a month waiting to be finished and I just had to or else I might've gone crazy. so yes. I'm sorry for my awful writing and everything else. I really hope you guys don't lose faith in me.
> 
> (ps: I'd say enjoy but idk if that's possible.)
> 
> (pps: I've got a master's on self-deprecation, I swear.)
> 
>  
> 
> (Title taken from: _Volcano_ by The Vamps)

It’s not like Marc-André absolutely _hated_ his job. Not really. He wasn’t particularly _fond_ of it either, granted, but he couldn’t be ungrateful. He’s manager was a laid back guy and the pay wasn’t half bad, and that’s already way more than most people get. The main problem with his job, however, was the people.

 

Now, before we jump to conclusions, no, Marc isn’t a antisocial asshole (okay, he might be a tiny bit of an asshole sometimes but that’s besides the point), but he does have a very short temper and most of the time he just can’t stand annoying hipsters ordering weird ass drinks or busy businessman being rude for no fucking reason. So yeah, he didn’t _hate_ his job, but he would quit without a second thought given the chance to do so.

 

Which brought us back to…

 

“Can I take your order?” Marc asked for the umpteenth time that hour. He looked up from the cup he was holding and at the expecting costumer in front of him.

 

Now if Marc wasn’t a dick he would admit that the guy was downright hot, but (and here’s the important part because nothing would’ve happened if it wasn’t for the fact that he is, in fact, a gigantic dick) he will only say that he’s okay.

 

Hot guy scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, scanning his eyes over the big menu displayed above them and Marc already wanted to kill himself. Couldn’t people see there was a _line_?

 

“Can I get a… uh… caramel macchiato… yeah.”

 

Marc looked at him for a second too long before speaking, “Your name?” and the guy looked so fucking confused, it was as if it was his first time on a freaking coffee shop.

 

“Oh! Yeah, it’s Bernd.”

 

_Bernd_ , suits him, Marc thought to himself as he wrote it down along with something else.

 

“That’ll be 4.00.”

 

Yes, Marc-André wasn’t particularly _fond_ of his job but he was very much fond of the redness on Bernd’s face when he grabbed his coffee and read the message.

 

.

 

Another thing that Marc wasn’t very fond of was mornings. He didn't like getting up early, didn’t understand the need to do so and just couldn’t deal with it as a whole. But since Marc was convinced that the universe had a plot against his existence, he had a morning shift.

 

He spent the whole morning thinking about painless ways to kill himself cause he wasn’t really one for pain and by 9.30 he decided pills were the better option, but now he had to befriend someone at the pharmacy near his house because there was no way someone was going to just sell them to him and he didn’t really have a prescription-

 

“Marc. _Marc_. MARC-ANDRÉ. TER-”

 

“What the fuck do you want Joshua,” he glared harshly at the younger boy currently stacking the showcase besides the counter.

 

Joshua, used to Marc’s terrible temper, only rolled his eyes and nodded towards the booths at the far end of the coffee shop, “I thought you’d like to take that order.”

 

The blonde followed his friend’s gaze and proceeded to promptly choke on the shaken lemon tea he was drinking ( _fuck you, Kimmich, this drink is perfectly manly, ok?_ ). He coughed for a good 30 seconds in which he didn’t fail to attract the entire place’s attention — including Bernd’s — before he could breath in enough oxygen to quickly mutter an alarmed “what the _fuck_ is _your_ dog-faced boyfriend doing with him, Jo?”

 

Joshua glared but there was no meaning behind it because he was more than used to Marc-André’s inability to not be a dick for more than five seconds, “First of all, you’re going to apologize for that—” and before Marc could roll his eyes Joshua threw him a fierce look, “—yes you are. And I don’t know, I’ve literally never met him before, so they’re probably not that close.”

 

Marc-André stared intently at the two of them for a few seconds and was about to stop because his brain kept telling him to _stop acting like such a fucking creep, you weird fuck_ , but then Julian turned around and pointed at him, and he fucking waved and Marc thought that now he really needed to learn how to be a friendlier person because he really needed to befriend that pharmacist.

 

He sort of waved back awkwardly but made a mental note to murder Julian before killing himself.

 

“You know I hate your boyfriend, right?” he turned to Joshua with the most serious look on his face.

 

Joshua didn’t even flinch, “Yes, you tell me every single day.”

 

“Okay but like. He _does_ kinda look like a dog.”

 

“Who?”

 

Marc-André turned around to find Julian himself leaning against the counter and eating an almond croissant.

 

“You.”

 

“You’re still going on about that, aren’t you?” he finished the pastry and brushed the crumbs away before walking past him and towards the expecting arms of his boyfriend.

 

“It’s literally impossible not to see the resemblance,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “and anyways, what are you doing back here? Joshua, you know he can’t be here. Employees only,” he pointed to sign that read in big, black letters ‘only authorized staff.’

 

“Oh, I’m authorized,” he grinned.

 

“By whom?” Marc-André deadpanned.

 

“My boyfriend, of course,” and then they proceeded to start a really intense round of shoving their tongues down each other’s throats.

 

“Oh my god, why me?” he muttered to himself as he turned back to the counter and this time he chocked on air.

 

“Are you okay?” Bernd asked, and Marc thought he must think he has some sort of problem cause this was the second time in the spam of 30 minutes that he had seen him choke.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat, “I’m just, uh. Sick.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah…” Marc-André scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and then mentally kicked himself five times because he needed to get a fucking grip. He straightened up and grabbed a cup, uncapping the marker, “what can I get you?”

 

Bernd scrunched up his nose and scanned the menu for a second before speaking, “How’s that tea you were chocking on earlier?”

 

Now, if it wasn’t because he cherishes his dignity so much, he would’ve definitely chocked for a third time, but instead, he just smirked because two can play at this fucking game.

 

“Really good, actually, one of my favorite’s.”

 

“Really?” and Bernd managed to legitimately look confused for one second before the smirk took over his face again, “didn’t seem like it, or maybe you just choke a lot?”

 

And Marc thought this boy was fucking unbelievable but also he was going to be the actual death of him.

 

“I never choke,” he said coolly, “anything else?”

 

“Nah, that’s all,” and he did this thing were he stared intently at Marc-André and then fucking bit his lower lip, dragging his teeth slowly and reddening the flesh before sweeping his tongue across them as if he was in a fucking porno, and Marc had to swallow hard because he swore he was one tongue movement away from getting a hard on.

 

“Alright then, that’s 3.20.”

 

Bernd took a few notes out of his wallet and handed them over but not before leaning towards the counter and smirking, “oh and ‘if you’re feeling down, I can feel you up’? Not a really good one.”

 

Marc took the notes and rolled his eyes before writing on the cup.

 

**_are u a parking ticket?? cuz you’ve got fine written aLl over u_ **

 

.

 

A few weeks passed and Marc-André was surprisingly running out of pick-up lines and he was frustrated. He got tired of dancing around the same thing like they were 12 and so yesterday he decided it was time to either man up or stop fucking around. He wrote a subtle ‘do u know what my shirt if made of?? boyfriend material’ followed by the six digits that made up his phone number.

 

However, he had received no calls or texts yesterday and he was starting to (not worry, because Mar-André ter fucking Stegen never worries) feel slightly mad about the whole situation, because why the fuck would this guy lead him on and explicitly flirt with him for weeks, just to not even have the balls to turn him down properly? And anyways, who the fuck wanted to turn him down in the first place, like.

 

So yeah, he was a little mad. But then he was furious when he saw Bernd entering the store and walking towards the counter like fucking nothing.

 

And he was never one for not speaking his mind.

 

He waited for him to reach the counter and smiled that sweet fucking smile, opening his mouth to say something but Marc-André gave zero fucks.

 

“You know what? You don’t get to come here for, like, three weeks straight and flirt with me and ask if I fucking choke a lot and blush reading all those pick-up lines, that I actually put some effort into, by the way, and then smirk like you know you’re going to hell for biting your lip the way you do all the fucking time, just to not call me when I give you my number, okay?”

 

Bernd only smirked and Marc-André rearranged his mental list,

 

_people i’m going to kill (soon probs)_

  * _Bernd Fucking Leno_
  * _Julian Dog-Faced Shit Weigl_



 

“Hey, Marc,” he had the biggest shit-eating grin Marc had encountered in his entire life.

 

“What?” he snapped.

 

“You’re just like my little toe,” and Marc wanted to punch him in the fucking nose because what the hell was this kid going on about. “I’m gonna bang you on every piece of furniture in my house.”

 

Marc-André completely froze and stared at the blond in front of him for a solid minute before breathing deeply and completely losing it.

 

“I fucking hate you.”


End file.
